Chapter 5 - Ruin of the Sinclairs
In the lower reception lobby, Richard Sinclair paced nervously across the Persian rugs, wiping sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief.
Behind him stood three powerful city council members and two high-ranking harbor executives, all looking visibly anxious.
When the private elevator doors opened, Matteo Romano stepped out, flanked by Marco and four armed security guards.
Richard immediately strode forward. “Matteo! Thank God. Look, yesterday was a tragic misunderstanding. Vanessa is young, she was emotional—”
“She is twenty-six years old, Richard,” Matteo interrupted, walking over to the marble bar and pouring himself a glass of sparkling water. “She is an adult who believes her family’s wealth grants her immunity from basic human decency.”
“She’s my daughter!” Richard snapped, his composure slipping. “You’re ruining my shipping contracts! Bank of America just frozen our corporate credit line thirty minutes ago! That was your doing!”
Matteo turned around, leaning against the bar with supreme calm. “Yes. I called the regional director at seven AM.”
“Over a waitress?!” Richard roared, his face flushing crimson. “You are destroying a forty-year partnership between our families over a nameless girl from the slums?!”
SLAM!
Marco moved so fast he was a blur, slamming Richard Sinclair against the mahogany pillar, his heavy hand pinned against the old man’s chest. The three city council members gasped, taking three steps back in absolute terror.
Matteo walked over slowly, standing inches from Richard’s pale, trembling face.
“Her name is Abigail Foster,” Matteo said, his voice dropping into an octave of sheer terror. “She gave my sister her blood when your friends at the medical board refused to open the emergency blood bank. She is more noble than your entire lineage, Richard.”
“Matteo... please,” Richard choked out, panic finally breaking his pride. “We can offer her money! Five million! Ten million! Whatever she wants to settle this!”
“She doesn't want your money,” Matteo spat coldly. “And neither do I.”
Matteo nodded to Marco, who released the old man. Richard slumped against the pillar, coughing violently.
“By five o’clock today,” Matteo declared, looking at the city council members, “the Sinclair family will resign from all civic boards. Richard will liquidate his shares in the harbor project and sell them to Romano Logistics at a forty-percent discount. If this is not completed by sunset, I will release the offshore tax evasion files your CFO handed me last winter.”
Richard stared at Matteo in sheer horror. “You... you had my CFO?”
“I have everyone, Richard,” Matteo whispered, bending down to look him in the eyes. “Now take your disgraced daughter and get out of my sight before I decide that financial ruin isn't enough of a punishment.”
The men didn't wait for a second warning. They scrambled for the exit like rats fleeing a sinking ship.
Matteo turned to Marco, adjusting his cufflinks. “Have the contracts drafted by noon.”
“Yes, boss,” Marco replied smoothly. “And what about Marcus? The ex-boyfriend who took Miss Foster’s savings?”
Matteo’s eyes darkened into pitch black. “Did you find him?”
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“He’s running an illegal gambling den in Chicago,” Marco confirmed. “He thinks he’s safe.”
“Bring him back to Boston,” Matteo ordered coldly. “I want him to account for every single penny he stole from her.”
